The Millionaire Tempted Fate (A Novella) (Sweet and Savory Romances) Read Online Free PDF Page B

shadowy stubble already showing on his clean-shaven chin. He kept his head down, his chin tucked in, and his fists up. The kid from Somerville was so white he might have been a ghost, with red hair and a scrawny chest that looked like it had never seen a bench press. But he was tough, and he dodged Roxbury’s punches with deft movements. Then Roxbury surprised him, slipping Somerville an uppercut, and driving him back into the ropes, so close to Max and Angie, they could see the sweat dripping down the kid’s temples.
    "Hit him, for Chrissake!" screamed one of the drunk guys on their left. "Hit him!"
    "Come on, McNeil, you look like a goddamned slug! Fight! Fight!" said the other drunk, roaring to his feet for the words, then dropping back into his chair with a thud. "This is wicked boring. We might as well be watching the wife’s bullshit soaps."
    McNeil, aka Somerville, must have heard, because he surged forward, swinging with his right, hard, fast, connecting with Roxbury’s cheek and sending him flying. A tooth popped out of Roxbury’s mouth, spiraling up in a high arc, coming down at the same time the fighter did. The force of Roxbury’s landing popped him out of the ring, across the first aisle—
    And into Angie’s lap.
    The crowd roared, the drunks cheered and poured beer on him, while the ref declared Somerville the winner. Angie shoved the sweaty man off her lap and onto the floor, letting out a little oof as she did. "Okay, that might be a little closer to the action than I wanted to be."
    Max chuckled. "You’re so tough, Ang, you could give either one of those guys a run for their money."
    "Me? Tough? I’m as soft as a kitten."
    "Right." He laughed. "You punched me so hard in third grade, my mother thought I’d fallen down the stairs."
    "You tried to steal my dessert at lunch. You know how I feel about brownies."
    He rubbed his arm, as if the spot was still sore. "Oh, I know. Too well."
    She gave him a light jab. "Now you’re just milking it."
    "Maybe." He grinned. "But seriously, you are one of the toughest women I know. Heck, I’ve only seen you cry twice in twenty years. You’re practically one of the guys."
    Any other time he’d said that to her, Angie had laughed, or teased him about challenging Max to an arm-wrestling competition. But this time, something that looked a lot like hurt flickered on her face.
    Then she worked up a smile, and got to her feet, gathering her coat and purse. "And that, Max, is part of the problem."
    Before he could ask what she meant by that, Roxbury had gotten to his feet, grabbed Max’s shoulder for stability, then collapsed again, leaving Max with a beaten fighter in his arms and a lot of questions about the one person he once thought he knew better than he knew himself.

 
     
Tortilla Chips
Shredded cheese
Salsa
Diced jalapenos
Diced onions
Sour cream
Any other fixings you want
     
Okay, so this isn’t really a recipe, but for Pete’s sake, your brain is fried. You can’t stop thinking about her, can’t focus on anything but the questions she’s raised in your mind. The high heels, the cleavage…oh wow.
     
Preheat the broiler. Line a cookie sheet with foil, layer the nachos, cheese, salsa, vegetables. Broil until the cheese is melted, then top with sour cream. Eat as many servings as it takes to forget the questions that seeing her as a woman, not just a friend, has been raising in your mind lately. Focus, man, focus.

C HAPTER F IVE
     

     
    So far, her grand plan to win Max’s heart had scored a huge goose egg. Angie sat in the diner where she and Max had been on Saturday, picking at a platter of fries, wondering if maybe the whole thing was a lost cause. Maybe Max would never see her as anything other than a friend. Maybe she’d misread the attraction between them. The man had offered to fix her up, after all. If anything spelled not interested, that was it.
    The door to the diner opened and a trio of women entered, chatting and laughing. Candace,